


Bloom Him Spring

by sun_incarnate



Series: The Divine, Once Again [2]
Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Chanhee as Persephone, Juyeon as Hades, M/M, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, changing of pronouns in narrative/recounts of memories, gods: modernized
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25208065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sun_incarnate/pseuds/sun_incarnate
Summary: He was never clueless, he knew what those seeds meant the moment he was offered them, even before they had passed his lips. It's a promise, a dare to Fate, a game that he's the master of even if its players are unaware of their participation in it. To spin the greatest of lies you have to look like you yourself have been tricked.He had wondered what flowers he could have helped bloom in the dark of a world that has never seen the sun.
Relationships: Choi Chanhee | New/Lee Juyeon
Series: The Divine, Once Again [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783480
Comments: 14
Kudos: 68





	Bloom Him Spring

**Author's Note:**

> **Don't translate my works without my permission. Don't repost this please.**
> 
> \- Persephone was titled Kore (the Maiden) as the goddess of spring's bounty, the goddess queen of the underworld, wife of the god Haides (Hades). She was also the goddess of spring growth.  
> \- Haides (Hades) was the king of the underworld and god of the dead, the god of the hidden wealth of the earth.  
> \- [Source.](https://www.theoi.com/greek-mythology/underworld-gods.html)

"You could have chosen not to, Chanhee." 

And Chanhee arches his back, instincts taking over as he drowns in the pomegranate taste of Juyeon's lips on his skin, for a moment forgetting where he's lain atop on because what matters more is who he's underneath of.

It had always been like this, always the deep reds that color them lovely, right from when he'd consumed a handful seeds of the fruit from eons ago.

"All of our time, it had been your choice to make, then..."Juyeon drawls, a pause on his words, leaning back with sloe-eyed sight cast downwards between them and pupils blown, marvelling at how easy the stretch of one of his hands covers the width of Chanhee's waist.

When the curves of his liptails disappear to mould against the sloping curves of Chanhee's body, it's to continue his words and the kiss-trails.

So, against the skin of his neck that's stretched as he bares his throat is where Juyeon settles, Chanhee feeling deep moaning deeper falling deepest. "Then and now. It still is, had always been yours, will always be. So why stay?" 

A sudden grip to the hips makes Chanhee process the lack of warmth on his waist, but not so that he'd felt cold at the absence of it. Juyeon looks at him, truly looks, and Chanhee melts at the tenderness he sees. It's a trait of Juyeon to be gentle even in the moments when he's asked opposite of it, always so considerate it makes Chanhee ache with endearment. 

Though what other aches he has are no contest to the desperation he feels now, and he moves by himself hoping to make Juyeon forget being good if only for this moment. Juyeon's lips part open at the right moment, and Chanhee hears himself sound off pride in his effect on him.

So an offer is gasped into a seeking mouth, Chanhee's bent knees asking Juyeon inside. His own hands come up to grasp at shoulders, then tangling on pulling at navy-ink hair as the entirety of his world earthquakes with enough force to shake all traces of springtime inside him, ankles locked hooked to pull Juyeon closer still. 

A minute, a handful, a flower-lifetime of moments passes and Chanhee's swallowing all calls of his name as he falls over the edge of his control, not to silence but to feel against his tongue just what it is that Juyeon tastes every time he breaks open for him.

 _Since he looks to be so addicted to it_ ; How does he still know of the ways with which to move Chanhee?

 _Must be from all of our years_ , Chanhee holds him close as the high trickles to sighs of exhaust sung to the tranquil air of their bedroom now that they've finished, _together. Not. Otherwise._

The clasps of his hands and ankles unfurl after a minute, the bed undips as it loses the weight of another body, and Chanhee struggles to think of Juyeon's question. Is he tiring of him? Is the contancy of his presence not enough anymore, now that they've been birthed to a newer world? _Does he regret being made new with me in this lifetime_ —

Something cool is pressed against the heaves of his chest, dragging down and wiping messes made. A hand steadies him on his hip, a soothing contrast from where they've pressed bruises moments prior from this considerate affection.

Chanhee is aware of the question he's left unanswered amidst what heated noises he'd sounded out, but he realizes that what answer's asked of him must be one of an unhurried chance.

Though, Juyeon—who's finished cleaning both of them and is now wearing sweatpants, who dresses Chanhee up with his softest indoor shorts and cotton shirt—would never ask of anything if he's never truly curious, if he isn't so itching with the need to be answered.

So Chanhee figures out that he's only got so much time to find for himself a proper reply, if the lowered lines of Juyeon's shoulders were anything to go by. 

In the clear view of them does he notice the faint light filtering through the blinds of their window, the sun already pinking its way across the horizon. _Why indeed?_

He knows that they've been together for so many years, time blending together and packed so tight-knit that it doesn't make sense to measure it anymore.The ancients and the industrial and the royalties the revolutions the democracies the _new—_

It's been a while since he'd last seen his mother, been a longer while since the nymphs and the abduction and the judgement of Zeus to have his years halved.

Ancient Greece and the first arrival to the palace of Hades had been so long ago that Chanhee tries to recall details of it if only to ground himself with the era's familiarity. 

The world had just begun its true start when they've wedded, when Persephone had first been queen to Hades. And in spending so much of their lives together, he knows one is bound to question and lay out all the why's.

Which is just, which is right, which is what Juyeon deserves to hear the answer to. 

It makes Chanhee wonder of the timing with which the question had been presented; right when he's most vulnerable and open, right when he most definitely would have answered with no hesitations had he not been so immersed in trying to down all the sounds Juyeon's made. 

_Is that why?_ He looks to the other, who's now inspecting the sheets for any more of their mess. _Is it because I would have answered with more chants of his name along with a thousand more declarations that would have proved to him the heart that I have?_

There's comfort in that, Chanhee realizes, because his lips would have shaped those words even before Juyeon had had the chance at asking. He would have kissed his mouth abyssal and bruised his tongue as a reply, loved him with petal lips going bee-sting numb.

Is that what Juyeon had been going for? Comfort in ready answers and reassurances of his stay? That's plain taking advantage of the moment, honestly uncharacteristic and a little dirty of Juyeon to do when he'd known that Chanhee isn't one to stay for even just a hint of filth. 

"What did you mean?" he asks, when the earthquakes of his body had been reduced to gentler thrums of heat.

From where Juyeon's now lain and is just about to drape an arm across the hips that he'd bruised, he hums with eyes closed. Chanhee takes notice of an eyelash that's fallen to the bridge of his nose, making him seem more human. But only seemingly so, both of them constantly aware of the gold in their veins.

"The question. Me staying, me making a choice. What of it?"

The arm, now sliding from his hip to the curve of his waist, is positioned so that Juyeon's hand is resting against his back. It starts to retrace paths lips had previously mapped, and Juyeon's thumb follows the line of his spine.

Chanhee fights the urge to shiver, even if the other would have liked to be reminded of his effect on him.

He's embraced closer, and Chanhee had already felt the dismissal at the sight of Juyeon's lips maintaining their seal, as if afraid that if he loosens them enough he'd have said something he won't be able to take back. A blanket is thrown over both their bodies and Juyeon holds Chanhee to his chest, always seeking more of warmth.

So Chanhee too closes his eyes, planting in his mind the image of Juyeon's neck and the mark of a solitary bloom of red-gold from where Chanhee's had the time to be physical with his love from before he'd been turned over to be below of.

But they never really sleep, them gods, for always a presence of them would have to be awake. The breeze through their oldest temples, the granters of prayers, the overseers of fate.

They've never felt the luxury of complete slumber, so it makes sense that Chanhee closes his eyes only to open them again in a dreamscape. 

Or prophecy, augury, maybe a glimpse of destinies. One could never know with the gods, their awareness of Fate instinctual at this point. They've had to have been; there are people to look after, mortal lives hanging by the very sinews of their hands.

A season, in Chanhee's case. Spring.

The weave of his vision is one of fine craft, the vibrancy of everything not lost to the haze that dreams constantly come with. He sinks completely into it, happy that he's dreaming of sunlit times.

_The whistles of breezes and the gurgles of a nearby brook are sharp in his ears, as are the pricks of grass against his naked skin._

_Or the areas of it that are uncovered, anyway, him feeling the feather-light of nymph-woven chiton as he moves to sit up and greet the sun. Looking_ _around, he tries to place his location._

_He'd never been good at that, even from before, as he'd always lost his way going through gardens in search for new blooms his spring have helped grow._

_His mother had had him followed by nymphs all the time, afraid for the safety of a flower child amongst the world full of greedy gods who've done nothing but take._

_He hears the high giggles of the nymphs echoing from somewhere farther than his line of sight. The sound is of comfort, reminding him of the safety he's granted, so he gives in to the compelling curiosity to explore deeper into the reaches of the garden._

_It still must be the beginnings of spring in this dream, the sun not as hot as Chanhee would've felt from the brightness he'd seen of it earlier._

_So he trails his hand along the overgrown hedges he walks by, melting the frozen dew on leaves and blossoming flowers as he passes through. The fragrance is soft even in the growing number of them, and Chanhee stoops down to breathe in deep. Just beyond him is a barrier of trees with thick trunks, and it feels like he's at the border of something._

Never stray far from your friends, Kore. I worry, and you're far too curious to be left alone.

_The protectiveness of his mother is stifling, and even now he feels himself being watched by unseen eyes. Chanhee_ _straightens up and wanders past the trees, squeezing himself through the slightest gap in the trunks._

_They give way, but on the other side Chanhee looks back only to be see no gap._ Must've sensed a goddess passing _._

_He lays a palm to the bark of the tree closest to him, willing it to bloom more buds as gratitude for the help. He hears a breeze pass, sound akin to a relieved sigh, and Chanhee smiles at the tree before turning away._

_What sight that greets him leaves him in disbelief. Just ahead of him is an opening in the ground, an outcrop of rocks that's split open like a cave. All around it are dried weeds and foul-smelling flowers, all seconds away from being scattered by the wind as they appear to be withering away with drought._

_Never have Chanhee felt such helplessness, feeling like he's never had a drop of divinity in him._

_How could his spring have overlooked this place, forsaken as such a place can be? Had the grove of trees concealed it from his blessings' reaches?_

_He hastens his steps and waves a hand to the herbage, relief flooding through him as he sees them sway and respond to him. The leaves are slow in turning greener, but that would have to be enough to ensure that they make it through the season's first days' freeze. So Chanhee heads for the cave, sensing the coldness of the air that drafts from it._

_Maybe one of the wind gods have decided to rest in there, though Chanhee could not conceive a reason as to why they'd be on land._

_In all his young number of years, he'd never felt such vexation over a matter. So he finds it righteous of himself to head inside and demand whatever god may be inside to leave._

_What he finds, however, is no god._

_He finds no one, in fact, for he finds only more brooding darknesses tunneling farther down. So he follows it, naturally, wondering how he'd never heard of such a place from his friends._

_He turns back to head away, finding the darkness endless on its own and wanting to at least be the one to put an end to its effect. So he exits it, glad at the sunlight he feels on his skin when he's clear of the roof the cave had shadowed him with._

_It's easy to track his steps from before, just following the trail of plants he'd left blooming._

_Past the trees, past the hedges; He's satisfied at the traces of spring he'd left behind._

_He's now near to where he's woken up, the distance between him and the brook he's heard earlier shortening as the gurgles of it increases in volume. Chanhee breaks the line of trees and finally sees his companions, with flowers in their hair and clothes clinging to skins as they wade in the cool water._

_Just on the bank are seated two of them, seemingly content to be mere spectators of the mirth the nymphs in the water exude._

_Chanhee opens his mouth to call them, but stops as he notices their formal garb and the weapons lain beside them; a hunting bow shaped from white tree-bark and a quiver full of gold-feathered arrows, a crested helm and a shield adorning the monstrous visage of a gorgon_.

Artemis and Athene.

_Recognizing the goddesses, Chanhee brightens up and comes closer, overjoyed as he was that his friends have found time to be with him. He was nearing them when he hears a thundering behind him, coming from the direction of the cave from earlier._

_He barely had the chance to utter the names of his companions before he feels himself swept off his feet, hair dishevelling as the wind cries through the strands, the heavy footfalls of running reined steeds shaking the chariot he's put on._

_The momentum of the action steals his breath, and as he's gasping through the sudden fear he registers the cave looming before them. There's a hand clutching his body tight, palm pressing on the center of his stomach pulling him close._

_In the violence of the abduction, Chanhee finds that the body he's held to is—_

_Warm_. His nape heats up as he feels hot air blowing in gentle puffs on his skin waking him.

It's Juyeon spooning him from behind, the bare skin of his torso hot even through the shirt Chanhee wears. He paws at the hand on his stomach, which seems adamant in its purpose to not let him breathe, its mission to hold him close to Juyeon.

He forces his way, the stubbornness of his character distinctive of him through lifetimes, and succeeds in facing Juyeon.

He's still asleep, expression stern; _Most likely managing the dead even in his dreams_ , and when Chanhee detaches from his body the arm that used to cage him Juyeon's eyebrows draw close furrowed.

The blanket that covered them before they slept is now nowhere near them, most likely thrown off the edge of bed with Juyeon always unknowingly seeking only body-warmth in his sleep. 

Noticing his own thought process, Chanhee deems himself awake enough to head to work. The dream had puzzled him, a recount of his own abduction not a recurring theme of his visions or dreams. But what reason behind it is lost to Chanhee, so he dismisses all thoughts of it as he gets off the bed.

He retrieves the blanket from where it's piled in a heap on the carpet and shakes it to take the dust off, draping it back over Juyeon's body as he himself heads to the bathroom to freshen up before leaving.

Dressing himself in shadow-garb and a cape of wispy fabric rippling all shades of red clasped by jeweled crotus blooms on his shoulders, he checks their home for the indoor plants he'd grown to take care of.

Sensing no decay nor wilt, he kisses Juyeon's forehead before clearing his mind. The image of the throne room vivid against the black of his closed eyes, he feels the ground fall apart underneath his feet, opening up and traveling through planes.

The disorientation he feels is second-nature from all the instances this had happened, and by the time he feels himself solidify and materialize with body standing upright on marbled floors he's done easing his queasiness.

Chanhee appears on the exact same spot he's targeted, in between his and Juyeon's thrones in the palace. There's a weight slow in its forming atop his head, the ruby crown that's nestling atop the brown of his hair. 

The crown. A gift to Chanhee, Juyeon had always been generous in displaying his wealth; Owning everything under the earth means you have control over the treasures below its surface. The abundance of it is shown in littler details when it comes to their abode, however, both of them liking smaller trinkets. They have a whole wall dedicated to shelving curiously-hued jewels Juyeon summons from deep down the earth.

But they do not indulge in the overuse of their divinities, both of them choosing to just be, with what amount of peace and normality they can afford to indulge in in the comforts of their home. The only display of godhood their home sees would be when Chanhee blesses his plants, or when they would have to disappear out of thin air to head for the Underworld.

As such, the luxury that Juyeon could have afforded them is lost to minimalism, though the idea of it is that so they'd be collecting smaller things that catch their fancy.

 _Like a nest for magpies_ , Chanhee thinks to himself as the palace's head butler approaches through double doors from another room.

He stops just before the raised dais of the thrones and bows his head, and in the action the other servants appear out of thin air.

The wisps of their souls take on color as they line themselves beside the carpet leading to the thrones, and when they look solid enough is when they all bow in unison.

"Welcome back, King." 

The emblems pinned to their chests, a teardrop of red gold encased with owl wings, catches light. The shine of it is a reminder of their servitude, the red an exact hue of the jewel Chanhee rings on his thumb, and he tries to quell down the sudden pride rising in him as he thinks of being their ruler. He smiles at them before they leave for their own duties.

The uplift of his mood, however, is broken down as the head butler—Michel, name he had answered to Juyeon's inquiry of it—recounts pending crimes that await their punishments. 

"And you are sure of it?" Chanhee asks. Looking through the list handed to him, the crimes number fewer than what they were used to.

Hellenism is overtaken by Christianity, after all. Most dead they get are those buried with coins with which they'll be to cross the river with, or of Greek lineages, the pull of their roots stronger than what religious beliefs they may have held in the time they spent alive.

But what crimes that does reach Hades' palace are worse than petty thefts or disobedience to mortal laws.

No, it's most often the desecration of their sacred places, or the theft of their most blest instruments. Museums and private collectors don't often come to know of the value of their treasures, and thieves are unknowingly drawn to that inexplicable value.

Which is what had happened this time, Michel's voice grave as he reports of what had transpired in his lords' absences.

"Yes, King. The god Apollo himself had sent for messengers, ravens flocking in increasing numbers scour the earth. They say somebody had stolen his most prized bracelet, and that he will stop at nothing to retrieve it."

He starts at that, the severity of the situation revealed to him. Chanhee knows of it, the bracelet a simple chain of linked stars. But what makes it valuable is the charm it holds. 

The twin gods had been given mastery over the sun and the moon, and in their rebirth they had been separated. As are all the gods, incarnations most likely scattered all over the world, powerless if they are unknowledgeable of their lineage and divinities. 

Apollo had been one of the firsts to reach out, his coming a dawn to the new lives they lead. He'd immediately searched for his sister, needing her as companion and partner in guarding the heaven's lights.

Chanhee himself had spotted ravens in the Underworld, all undead, beady eyes focused on the search. But when his searchings have come up unsuccessful and most of the gods already awakened, Apollo stopped and simply made part of the moon a charm so that he may watch over it, the sickle curve of its incompleteness he fastens with a constellation-link of stars around his wrist.

So, it makes sense for him to send his sacred animals to look for it. He had been stolen from countless of times, being the god of many things and lord of the Muses. The amount of thieves the fire of Hades holds is great, and amidst the towering licks of flames are those who've committed thefts from the gods, crimes simply unforgivable.

"When Juyeon arrives, remind me to ask him a favor. Perhaps he'd be able to sense the rarity of the stars." 

_Though I doubt it_ , Chanhee thinks as Michel continues his reports. _Juyeon's hold over jewels does not extend past the surface, and that charm is one of the skies._

Michel's in the middle of summoning the spirit that had requested for Chanhee's personal verdict when he feels it.

 _Divinity_.

So when Michel had finished his summons, it's no surprise to him that a god had been the one behind the request.

The god arrives in a slow flash of light, posture and stance offers no hint of guard, relaxed and strong in the gentlest way. As always had been.

The flicker of warm red in the god's eyes is that of Olympus' hearth, warming the heavenly halls and source of mankind's fire. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your warmth and comfort in the land of the dead, Hestia?" Chanhee greets the god, getting off the perch of his throne and stepping down the dais. 

"I have come in behalf of the god Apollo, who had recently lost something of value to him and the heavens. I ask of your assistance, Persephone, so that in the resolution of it the heavens may find peace."

 _And so it starts_.

Chanhee turns his head and there Michel stands, ready to accept what orders he knows will be required of him.

"Venture above. Report on what phase the moon is taking on, be back immediately."

But before Michel could dematerialize, Hestia had already put up a hand to stop him.

 _Two goddesses made gods in this lifetime._ He brings it back down, and Chanhee notices a little trace of fear disturbing the calm of his eyes' fire.

"No need for that. We have been lucky—or whatever luck we may get from this situation—for new moon's just about to be. It has arrived a few days early sure, and so we are allowed some time, but we still have no choice but to look for it immediately."

Chanhee, thoughtful for a moment, thinks it might have been like this when his own mother had searched the world for him.

"Right. It can't be moonless all over the world now, can it?" 

At that, Hestia smiles, and the warmth coming from him spreads throughout the hall. He makes as if to turn away, the air he carries about him starting to thin in preparation for his leaving.

But Chanhee reaches out, feeling the sudden loneliness in the empty throne room. "Would you want to stay for a while? It's been so long since I've talked to another god that isn't my husband."

Hestia smiles at him to answer, ever-gentle and understanding of empty homes. He'd always been left to tend over the hearth of Olympus, ensuring that the fire stays alive by watching over its coals, often alone as the thrones of the Olympians are emptied from where its occupants depart to roam the world.

Chanhee knows that it's Hestia who knows it best, that the warmth turns cold when you haven't anyone to share it with.

And so they head to the gardens, Chanhee's personal space in the Underworld. He'd grown blooms and herbage in this wing of the palace, with its own little sun a wedding gift from the gods so that he may have sunlight even in the gloom.

Scattered amongst the soft petals are the hard glass-skin of others, jeweled flowers a gift from his husband. There had been countless crystals hewn to resemble natural blooms, and in the loving gesture Chanhee could not bear to take Juyeon's joy away by saying that they're lovely but they aren't _alive_.

That would be cruel of him, a heartless observation that would result in nothing but increased distance between the both of them. But nevertheless, he loves all of them equally, even if the opal orchids had been one of his favorites, petals flashing blinding white under the glow of the sun.

Hestia stops to admire them, and Chanhee sees his eyes fill with wonder. The astonishment of his expression makes Chanhee let out a laugh, a high tinkling sound freed into the air. The flowers bloom even more at his carefree joy.

Walking through the garden, Chanhee learns that Hestia had been working with Hera to find all the other gods. After their past incarnations have faded in the gradual diminishing of their influence on the world, their past forms crumbled and their spirits are reborn on another body.

It must have been a feat, effort painstakingly spent just to bring them all back together. _Or at least know of our whereabouts, know where to look for us lest we're needed._

They have been doing so for the past couple of months, Hestia says, attending a great number of events and roaming the most social places in hopes of sensing the divine amongst mankind. He himself had enrolled to the biggest university of the country he's reincarnated on, the campus of it surrounded by the bustling air of the capital city.

"The only thing we're sure of is that we are all in one country. We found Apollo first, and then you." 

"We've always been here in the Underworld, how could you not find us with that." Chanhee says, arriving at the end of the path and conjuring a table for two.

It's no surprise that they've been reborn in the same country, but Chanhee had honestly expected it to be something wider, maybe the same continent.

To have the gods set base in one country is an omen of things to come, but it's most likely because this country has a spreading influence over the world.

The glass wall that borders this wing of the palace allows them to see Elysium just a miles away, and the glow of its eternal sun that reaches them is of comfort.

Chanhee sits first and invites Hestia to, but he drifts away to look at the view on the other side of the glass. "You know we never could have left the Underworld to function on its own."

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean, your home just past the noise of central Seoul. I traced both of you, you and Hades, when I was following faint trails of Athena." 

At the mention of his old friend, Chanhee looks to Hestia for more. The unfruitful search for Artemis had been enough to bring his hopes down, and now that he knows Athena is wandering undetected beneath their noses, Chanhee despairs for their fate.

How long would it be until he knows of their states, until he gets to meet them again and be assured that they are safe in this world that steadily evolves past the influences of them? 

But without looking away from the endless paradise of Elysium, Hestia clasps his hands behind his back and replies, "Faint, I say. War, but not as red as what Ares' would have been. A tang of pride, tactic and intellect woven in the air like the thinnest of threads." 

When he turns back, the warmth of his apology drapes over Chanhee with no utterance of words.

"I know, but it had been faint. Much of the trail had been lost when I approached the area of your home, two gods' presences enough to cover the dim of hers."

He takes a glass of nectar from the small feast Chanhee has summoned, and sighs soft as he finishes the drink in one long draft. 

His hand had been on the back of the chair, pulling it out so he may take a seat, but he tenses and sets the glass down on the table, neck craning as he looks to the direction of the throne room.

Chanhee gets up, him too feeling the sudden change in the air.

"I will visit as much as I can, Persephone." Hestia says, the kindness of his voice reflecting on the dimpled smile he shows. "I know how difficult to fight loneliness must have been, especially for you who only had souls and your husband as company."

 _You, who has memories of a youth spent on sunlit fields with countless nymphs as companions and friends_ , Chanhee hears between the words. But he isn't bothered by it—if anything it's of comfort to him, the nostalgia from days of his youth being understood. Hestia isn't one to be of ill intent.

The sound of steps on the gravel of the garden's path, Hestia comes closer and embraces Chanhee. He knows of Hestia's blessings, is aware of the great comfort his fires provide, but it's another thing to feel _home_ in such simple gesture.

When they part, Michel's already standing just before the edge of the path. 

"Lord, King," he bows in greeting, Chanhee smiling to hide his surprise as he's started getting used to being called such title, "the King has arrived."

They have no need for the notice, of course, they've already planned to head back the way they came the exact moment they'd felt _that_ in the air. But it's for the fun of it that they allow themselves to be reminded, for the contentment they find in Michel's formality.

As they head back to the throne room, the crystal flowers on the gardens seem to glow a little bit more. The air's calmer, the agitated air of spirits from before only noticed by Chanhee in its absence now.

He knows of Juyeon's effects in the very atmosphere of the Underworld, the entirety of it breathing easy in the presence of its king. It never fails to amaze Chanhee, and he takes great pride in the fact that he's ruling on equal terms with this great a god.

Once he had been itching for recognition, back from when he's just started his life in the palace. He had been young, a maiden known for life opposite so of the one that he's seemingly being forced to live.

The dignity of the responsibilities she's shouldered since her first day here had been enough for Persephone to rise up to the challenge called to her. And so she stays seated on the throne Hades had placed for her, as wife and queen equal in power over the dead. She'd started to participate in judgements and verdicts, fair and showing no mercy as she's fought to be seen as someone worthy of the title given to her. 

She's received heroes to the very halls that hold their thrones and given her favor to those just and showing spirit, knowing that far above on the surface people whisper her name in reverence lest they incur her wrath and displeasure.

Mankind has learned to worship her as Persephone, Queen of the Dead. Wife to Hades, King of the Underworld. 

That title had brought great pride and pleasure to her, being a ruler given recognition separate from the influence of her husband.

Chanhee now knows that he is his own, as is the truth of his being throughout lifetimes he's spent being rebirthed with the same role. The divinity of him extends way past the extremes of his spring blooms, further than the timely cage of the season he rules over. Spring is rebirth for the world above, a gentle thaw from winter snow, but here he is merciless over the dead. 

When Juyeon in this life had placed on his head a crown carved from a large ruby he'd summoned from deep down the earth, he knows that it is because of the history his myth had held.

Chanhee is aware of their whispers, knows of the _naïve_ they once used to say along with the pity they color their voices with as they speak of his name. _Foolish girl_ , they had said of her when they learned that she'd consumed pomegranate seeds taken off of Hades' palms. 

Fools, all of them _. I wouldn't have had it any other way._

And Juyeon, through the ages they've spent together, must have known of the pride he holds close to his heart. He must have, the silence of him when he'd placed the diadem on Chanhee's head a deep understanding between the both of them, for why would he have picked such deep red to crown Chanhee with?

Which is the reason why every time he arrives before his throne, Chanhee welcomes the weight atop his head wholeheartedly, the heavy set of it against his skin and bones a reminder of his duty and the strengths of him that had unyieldingly persisted even as the gods have been reincarnated and made new.

So Chanhee holds his head high as he leads the way to the throne, the steadiness of his steps unfaltering as he holds Juyeon's gaze from where he's waiting on his throne. The numerous servants of the palace are once again lined, heads bowed and emblems glowing redder as Chanhee passes by them. 

Two thrones strong, King and King, a world always believing of Death and the afterlife that awaits. They will be eternal, he knows, long as mankind is aware of their names. Death is the unforgiving destination of everything.

Chanhee heads for his throne and when he's seated he faces Hestia, who stays by the foot of the dais looking up at them. 

"Welcome, Hestia. Brother. Have you been well?" Juyeon asks of him, face serene at the sight of his sibling's incarnation.

And Hestia responds with a bow to the thrones, Chanhee reading relief in his eyes as Juyeon had called for his name. "Good, as I have always been. The Fates have treated me kindly, though I could not say the same for the others."

Juyeon raises an eyebrow in amusement, corners of his lips curling in a smile. 

But the mood is dampened when Hestia states his business, frown lacing his words with uncertainty and worry. "Though I've only met the both of you, Apollo, and Hera. Where the others are, we're yet to know. I'm assisting Hera in the search."

Sensing his pending leave in the words, Chanhee nods at his direction and lays a hand on Juyeon's arm. "We're glad to have been visited by you, Hestia. Fare well, and may the Fates be ever as kind." 

"Should you need us," Juyeon follows, catching up to Chanhee even as he's no idea of everything, "you know where to be."

At that, Hestia goes up in slow flames. The tongues start at his feet until they lick up gentle over his whole body, but the smile he sends their way before fully disappearing is warmer than anything.

Before Michel could even hand them the list of crimes, or remind Chanhee of the favor he's yet to ask, Juyeon had already asked for him to halt in his steps to approach. He turns to Chanhee, who now becomes aware of his husband's lack of knowledge concerning the matter. 

He beats him to it, taking his hand off Juyeon's arm and using it to twist the ring on his other thumb. "He's here to ask assistance for the search of Apollo's bracelet."

Juyeon arches an eyebrow as he reaches out to stop Chanhee from twisting his ring. When he looks at it, the skin's already reddened and just a few more twists away from starting to peel. So he stops, bringing a hand to his mouth instead, playing with his lips. 

"You know that charm, the crescent moon he'd taken care of as Artemis is still not found? That one. Someone's stolen it from him, and they can't tell who."

Juyeon reaches again and this time holds his hand to stop its wanderings, a contemplative look on his face. The seriousness of his thinking makes his expression look darker, and Chanhee thinks it helps in the reputation he's got as the feared god of the dead.

"Couldn't they have consulted his oracles? Or were they missing too?" 

"I think so, he wouldn't have asked for help had he seen who the thief had been."

Juyeon looks at him before he sighs, resolved. "I know what you've thought of," he says to Chanhee. "But I can't track stars even if they've been jeweled."

He waves Michel over, and the paper list that's handed to him turns to a sleek matte-black iPad. At which Chanhee rolls his eyes at, though in playfulness, finding Juyeon's insistence to catch up with the times amusing.

When Chanhee stretches over the armrest to take a look at the list, Juyeon holds the device with one hand in between their thrones as to share. 

"Ah, another Orpheus, it would seem." Juyeon checks the box beside the name before making the iPad disappear, and the double doors at the end of the hall sway open.

A man walks in with equal strides on the path to the throne, measured and courageous even if his eyes betray the fear he harbors. Chanhee delights in this, finding the strength that he carefully displays admirable.

"Love, indeed. Though," he halts his thoughts, scanning the man's person, "I do not see him carrying any kind of instrument."

The poor man must have been confused, seeing two men on the thrones when he's probably heard of a merciless queen beside the king. But nevertheless, he bows to the thrones, a full one that has his body curled against the floor. Whether the action speaks of wherefrom was he born or if he's merely submitting himself by making his body as small as possible, Chanhee does not know. He can see him shaking, and notices the fists he makes.

"Speak," Juyeon calls, commanding in the tone of his order, voice deeper and far from the easiness of it when he'd been talking to Chanhee. The man tenses from his bow before he straightens up, and he meets both Chanhee's and Juyeon's eyes before he settles to look only at Juyeon's. 

The man puts an effort to stop his trembling, and says in a voice steady despite the obvious fear he now displays, "My kings, I have journeyed to humbly request that I—" he halts, head shifting direction to look beyond Chanhee's seat.

Chanhee now knows, grasping the grief and the longing from him. He senses the air change behind his throne, a shape taking form in the currents of the flow, and he feels the same magnitude of longing from it. _Interesting_.

"I have come to be indebted to you, that in the exchange of my servitude to your palace in the afterlife I may be allowed one last glimpse of my beloved."

 _Ah_ , Chanhee can't help but glance at Juyeon, whose expression has maintained the cold mask he'd put on. _Servitude even after life. Debt after death. Truly, what one wouldn't do for love._

Eyes hardened as he leans forward, now showing interest at the promise. Chanhee knows how easy it is to summon the spirit, to make it appear for a few moments. Juyeon, most probably, is hesitating in his curiosity as to why the man is gambling his eternity for those meager seconds.

"And how could we be assured of your promise?" Juyeon hums in thought, eyes narrowing as he considers the man before him. "Say, will you sing for us?"

The man's eyes grow wider, the lights up above reflecting making it look glassy. They remind Chanhee of night skies.

"I will, my king. Anything to behold him once again." 

At a gesture of his hand, Juyeon urges the man to. 

And he does, voice clear in carrying haunting echoes through the hall. He sings of a loneliness he feels as he's looking for traces of the one who left, of time not passing as he waits alone, and it strikes something in Chanhee. The melody of it is beautiful, and the nostalgia it coaxes out of him is bordering uncontrollable.

It makes him think of springtime, though not in the brightness that most would associate with it.

In memory, springtime had always been a little lonely for him, no amount of laughter with friends reaching into the kind darkness he's nursed in his heart. His emerging from the Underworld is the same as the time that new shoots push through winter-beaten earth, a new beginning symbol of the season. He tries to be happy with the time that's given to him so that he can take up as much sunlight as he can, but even in spring the night comes. 

The darkness only seems to grow colder for every night he spends sleeping alone.

Juyeon must have sensed the state of Chanhee, for he stops the man as his voice sings in lower tones. His song comes to a gradual stop, the deep of his voice melting away until all sounds by it bleed into silence.

 _That's why he had no instrument with him_.

"I would have asked of your voice as collateral for a promise, but," Juyeon reaches again and taps on Chanhee's arm, "I'll have him decide your fate."

Then silent and voice noticeably gentler, to Chanhee, "What do you think of it, Chanhee?"

 _Another Orpheus_. "Your afterlife spent on these halls serving us seems too great if equated to the value of a few seconds, is it not?" 

Chanhee waits for no response as he waves a hand, and the figure in the air he'd felt behind him from before is drifted towards the foot of the dais, just before the man. As he stops the movements of his hand to trace the band of his ring, the wisp takes form and grows solid as it's colored alive.

Another man stands there, tall and with beauty so striking in the statue sculpt of his face. His skin takes on the healthy flush of the living, and at every inch of revealed skin that shows a youthful tan Chanhee becomes aware that he's messing with the natural order of the world with the way he's brought the man back to life. 

The other man is brought to his knees in disbelief, tears flowing in sudden streams from his eyes. Chanhee can feel Juyeon looking to him, not in anger but perhaps in the same disbelief as the man wears, though in much more littler amounts.

His lover joins him in kneeling, and comforts him in hushed words so quiet as they attempt in privacy that Chanhee finds it unfair if he thinks he should listen in on. Even in the moment of their reunion, the man does not touch his lover. His hands stay fisted, though now they visibly shake in the effort of it. 

_Look at that_ , Chanhee wonders in amazement, _he's kept to his promise_. The man had asked for a glimpse, and he'd honored his promise by not even returning the embrace he's being enveloped with, not even when it's from a deceased lover who he must have wanted to hold again more than anything else. _Strength of will._

"If I were to offer you a challenge," Chanhee says as he stands up from his seat, "would you accept it?"

"Yes!" The man cries out immediately, fists reddened now with small rivulets of blood trickling from its lock. Must be from how hard he's clenching his hands.

"I will grant you and your lover another chance at life. In the condition that as you leave with him, you may not take another look at him. You have wanted to only look, have you not?" The man nods, hanging on to his every word. His lover is now stood upright, at the side as he too awaits for Chanhee's verdict.

"Then another look shall cost you him. You are to travel back to your lives with him behind you. You are not to look until you've been touched by the sun again. If you do look back," Chanhee steps down the dais, the silence around them making his footfalls sound louder, "you will find him gone. Though, your promise of servitude will hold no matter what happens."

The man gets up and looks at Chanhee meeting his eyes, and even through the tears the smile that curves them is unmistakable. So Chanhee returns the smile, knowing of the gratitude this man before him feels so deep in his heart. 

"Michel!" Juyeon calls behind him, and Chanhee returns to his throne. When he appears, Juyeon gestures at the men, "Make sure they get past Cerberus. He'd passed him once already on his way, and the journey here should be enough testament to his courage. He needs no more challenge than the one he has set himself up with."

The man thanks them endlessly, and even as Michel has escorted them back through the doors his gratitude is still ringing in Chanhee's ears. Quiet returns to the halls, an emptiness lain with anticipation as Chanhee breathes in measured seconds. _Any moment now._

He knows that Juyeon's bound to ask of his verdict, ask of the challenge, ask of the mercy he'd given. But not to question his decision—no, Juyeon would ask to know him better, and as rulers of an ever-expanding kingdom Chanhee knows that he'd have to be careful of giving out favors. But Juyeon would not ask him that, would not have him bend over his own will. 

No, he asks to understand, and will try his hardest to. Juyeon, Chanhee knows, is naturally curious of things.

Being tasked to manage the Underworld has made him secluded from the light of the world above, and in that he's left with no knowledge of most things the living go through.

Although all-seeing, his sight stops at the borders of his kingdom when he doesn't leave. Their home above the surface allows both of them, though Juyeon more than Chanhee, to know of the living's ways.

He as king had welcomed the change, untried by and unheard of of his previous incarnates, saying that if he's to judge the dead then he'd have to understand the living. Juyeon's to look after the kingdom, after all, body and spirit endlessly taxed to ensure that its peace is maintained.

So he tends to be interested easy, always asking of things and reasons why. Juyeon makes up for his slight lack of knowledge with the willingness to learn _more_ , a thirst he's long since acquired but has surrendered to most especially in this incarnation.

"Chanhee." _And there it is._ In his peripheral vision he can see Juyeon looking his way, and Chanhee waits for the iPad to materialize back on his hands so they could resume.

When it doesn't, he turns to Juyeon and swings a leg over his throne's armrest, facing his husband.

Hand propping up his chin, he hums as answer, urging Juyeon to finally voice out the question they both know is coming.

"Wouldn't you hold it against me?" 

This is not the question Chanhee had expected to come from him, and he allows himself to have a few moments if only to assess its nature.

 _Hold what against you?_ Chanhee tilts his head, considering what may have led to this. 

Juyeon sees the question in him. "Your stay. Why wouldn't you complain, why wouldn't you hold it against me?" 

He turns and the straight line of his back curves in his slump, head hanging low so that his crown slips a little. Chanhee's attention is stolen by the sudden glint of it.

"Do you want me to?" He throws back, genuinely wanting to know of his husband's thoughts on this matter.

Juyeon's diadem, much like Chanhee's, is made in this life. He'd carved it out of black opals, the glass of it misty even as the darkness of it's enhanced under lights. It carries a centerpiece of red diamond, rare made rarer in the greatness of its size. 

It reminds Chanhee of when they'd been born new at the same time just maybe three months ago, when he's sat on his throne already aware of his nature but not of the souls inside the palace, Juyeon beside him just as clueless of the faces that greet them before their thrones.

But where Chanhee had stilled, Juyeon had moved to rise, summoning from the earth materials that settled in their forming state atop his head. The action is seamlessly quick in its flow, and when he's stood fully upright there's a magnificent crown already sitting amongst the curls of his midnight hair.

He then stood before Chanhee, who'd remained seated on his throne. It might have been because he'd hesitated, though even now that's just a simple guess. He can still remember the surprise on the faces of those looking up at them, and he recalls the whispers he sees from moving mouths at the exact moment he realizes that he's a _king_ in this life. 

But Juyeon then blocked his view, shoulders wide and torso tapering to the slim of his waist, so Chanhee had glanced up to meet his eyes. Juyeon's searching Chanhee's face, and he must have seen the uncertainty that pulls Chanhee's mouth into a slight pout as he feels his gaze harden in instinctual defense.

A few seconds of that had passed before Juyeon has lain a hand with palm faced up before him, and atop the width of his palm Chanhee saw a large ruby appear glinting as its shape altered.

The hard crystal of it flowed viscous, moulding into a headpiece elaborate with dainty details enhanced by the variance of the gem's deep shades. After Juyeon had set it atop Chanhee's head was when he too arose, welcoming the weight on his head the same time he accepted the hand offered to him.

Which is what he does now, reaching out to press his palm against Juyeon's. It makes Juyeon look back at him, and his eyes wander all over Chanhee's face before he lets out a smile that loses its effect when Chanhee sees the melancholic line of it.

"Would it be unjust of me to say that I don't?" 

Chanhee can't find it in him to agree, not when he remembers his past selves taking utter delight in the fact that half of every year he has is spent under the sun, that he's away from the gloom and the dark. Not when even him is not free of the changing hearts them gods possess, not when even he had had his head turned away from his husband by mortals.

_But not anymore. Not in this life._

"No," he says. He takes the ring off his thumb and slides it on Juyeon's fingers, trying to see which digit it would fit with. 

It fits Juyeon's ring finger. Chanhee lets it stay there as he brushes his thumb across flattened knuckles. "I have never known you to be. Unjust, unfair, selfish. Juyeon, you have never been."

At that Juyeon looks to be confused, not expecting the direction of their conversation to lead back to him. But Chanhee finds it right, finds it fair that Juyeon be made aware of how he sees him. 

He'd thought that it's about his own incompetence as a partner, that maybe Juyeon had been asking of his choice as an attempt to make him think of his own purpose. It scared him, Juyeon questioning his stay at his side.

Now it dawns upon Chanhee that he'd greatly misunderstood the intent of his husband, that he'd dreamt of his abduction because of that seedling of insecurity that took root even in the surety he has of himself, why he'd let himself preen at the pomegranate-glow of their servants' emblems. 

He hadn't been aware of it at the time, but it too might have been the cause of his taking charge of the verdict-handling earlier when Juyeon had asked of his opinion. But he'd let Chanhee rein over the process, speaking again only when the resolution had been given. It speaks of his respect of Chanhee, and there Chanhee realizes that he need not question himself.

"I am a god like you, Juyeon. I could have chosen to break Zeus' law, could have not returned to you for every winter my mother freezes the world with." 

And Juyeon gets off his throne, body facing the hall's entrance but head turned to look back on Chanhee. 

"Is this brought on by what had happened earlier? That man taking his lover back?" Chanhee asks of him, not needing an answer as he's understood Juyeon already. 

This is brought on by that man taking his lover back to the world of the living, back to humanity and joy and the sun. He'd left with taking his lover away from the gloom, and that was what must have made Juyeon continue the questions from the night before. Chanhee's never really given him an answer, so it makes sense for him to ask of it again. 

Juyeon turns his head away from him and starts to bring up a hand as if to summon Michel once again, but Chanhee gets off his seat and holds that hand, fingers tracing the ring he's left on Juyeon's finger.

The action makes him turn to look at Chanhee suddenly beside him, and the column of his neck is exposed by the movement. There's a single bruise dark against his skin, red still from the night before. 

_There_. Juyeon too could have chosen, could have willed its healing to hasten. It's in him to think of, so why is he still wearing Chanhee's mark?

He looks away, not able to handle the intensity of Juyeon's eyes as he waits for Chanhee to continue what he's started.

Just how is he to properly express this weight he carries, when the simple heart of his reason he knows will be lost in the bareness of words?

Chanhee knows that he stays because he'd always been here. In the constancy of his being he'd grown to be aware of the lifetimes he's spent ruling with Hades, that the crown atop his head meant he's chosen amongst all the others that have momentarily turned his husband's head and heart away.

And Chanhee does not hold Juyeon to the infidelities of his pasts, not when he himself in his past had been subject to it too.

No, what matters is how Juyeon asks himself why Chanhee stays by his side, for that speaks of doubt not in Chanhee but in himself, as if he believes deep down that Chanhee would forsake him to bathe in eternal springtime away from the dark of his kingdom.

Some part of him had been curious of the dark. The light had been all he has known, the sun shining on him a reminder of his mother's fierce protection. But he'd longed for his divinity to reach everywhere, a young goddess daughter of two Olympians who saw it fit that she should be known far and wide.

He had wondered what flowers he could have helped bloom in the dark of a world that has never seen the sun. 

He was never clueless, he knew what those seeds meant the moment he was offered them, even before they had passed his lips. It was a promise, a dare to Fate, a game that he's the master of even if its players are unaware of their participation in it.

To spin the greatest of lies you have to look like you yourself have been tricked. 

So how is he to say all that, with words that won't rob his intent with color?

"I stayed for my crown." Juyeon will realize. 

Greater than any wedding ring had been the symbol of his crown, a promise needing no words from that day it had been put atop his head.

An equal enthroned and crowned, understanding that Chanhee needs to be reminded that he owns himself, that no myth nor stories told of him will truly justify and embody his being. Juyeon had taken one look at him and offered reassurance in the form of his crown, the red of it a reminder of pomegranate-stained mouth tongue and lips from eons ago.

It's reminded Chanhee time and time again, that he owns this color much as he owns himself. 

"I stayed for the weight of it on my head, for the moments that I get to wear it. I stay for the assurance that I will be its sole bearer, for the guarantee that as I sit on my throne I will wear my color with pride and dignity fit for the king that I am beside you.

When at home I am not given the chance to wear it, I am reminded of my being still, for the color of it is what I love you with." 

He nears Juyeon now, facing him as he's baring all the truths he has. Gone is the cold of his eyes, the Hades that everyone has come to know and fear. In this moment, Chanhee sees him as just Juyeon, who loved and respected him even as he's unsure of his own self. He could never have asked for anything more.

Chanhee brings up both hands to hold Juyeon's face, the tenderness of his action he feels contrasting the ruthless way he reveals himself with. 

"I didn't know that you've felt this strongly of it." Juyeon closes his eyes in the confession, smiling soft now that he's given an answer. The satisfaction of it curls his liptails, and Chanhee's hands are moved as the line of it stretches his cheeks. 

"But I know of your reds. I would never have picked such color to center my crown had I not been aware of your sentiment." 

At that, Chanhee stills as he glances up to see for himself what he knows is there. The red of the diamond centerpiece is deep, and now he's made aware of how he too affects this god before him. 

And Juyeon opens his eyes, the dark of them now inlaid with flecks of purest golds, bright like golden stars on night skies. When he speaks, he brings up his hands to hold Chanhee's, curling his fingers to hold them against his skin. "Would you mind, if I give you something to remind you of me when you wear this for the rest of your reign?" 

_Which is basically for all eternity_ , Chanhee thinks, pressing his hands against Juyeon's cheeks as he shakes his head delightedly.

Juyeon unfurls his hands and lays one between them, palm open asking for something. And Chanhee knows. 

So he takes off his crown and sets it there, but Juyeon makes it hover in the air as he clenches his hand below it. The red shifts as it changes shape, flowing away from the center where a space is hollowed.

When Juyeon opens his fist, a black opal blossoms at the hollow, solidifying with the rest of the crown's red, glinting as the light hits the polished edges of it. 

It lands on Juyeon's waiting hand when it's finished, and he puts it atop Chanhee's head once again. He can feel no noticeable addition to the weight of it against his head, but Chanhee feels another thing taking root deep in him. 

Juyeon summons the servants of their palace, who looks to them first in confusion for the sudden call but bows in unison as they see and understand why. The gleam of their emblems is striking bright as the beams of their smiles.

Two thrones strong, _King and King_ , and Chanhee is reminded that it's never his duty alone to shoulder the weight of this kingdom. His sense of self is what allows him to rule and live and love to the fullest of his capabilities, nothing a hindrance when now his surety is made even stronger in the bond he shares with Juyeon beside him.

Chanhee is reminded of the crystals blooming alongside the flowers of his garden, and he finds it in him to fall even deeper.

**Author's Note:**

> [Orpheus and Eurydice's myth](https://www.theoi.com/articles/the-tragic-myth-about-orpheus-and-eurydice/)
> 
> as always, thank you for reading !! [my twt!](https://mobile.twitter.com/jjukyus) [my curiouscat!](https://curiouscat.qa/kyuisms)
> 
> bffie made a [fanart of chanhee!!](https://twitter.com/cl_rizart/status/1301122692981174273?s=19)


End file.
